Every hospital had at least one-a Dr. D-or the equivalent thereof. The thread which strung them into the same category was their absolute flawlessness. Gender varied from place to place, but at Eastport General the physician in question was a man:
Dr. Desmond Danielson had all the tools necessary for an evening of pure pleasure...
The suave demeanour.
The pearly white smile.
The full head of hair, nary a strand out of place. Not even a tornado could best his style.
He played sports.
He saved lives.
He won trophies and awards.
He was well-read, well-established, and in any clothes other than a medical coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck instead of a scarf, he would have appeared too young for the job. No one even truly knew his age. No one cared.
Everyone loved him. And, of course, he was hotter than the tropics on a blustery afternoon during the peak of summer.
There was only one problem: all that perfection only lasted for one night.
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